I am Woodrow Wilson in Indiana.
I am Margaret Sanger before Ernst Rudin. Consider Sir Francis Galtonís
hairy knuckles exposed while reading his cousinís book. Consider Alexander
Graham Bellís high stepping cattle as shown to the American Breeders'
Association. Iím talking about regression towards the mean. I'm talking
about the rising ape. The men of Tuskegee are only numbers. There are no
choices, only a general downward slide. We need a loan from the genius bank.
We must sever the posterior from posterity. We must breed men like
carthorses. Catch the falling angel and steal its wings. Weíve got to get
the feeble-minded off the tax payersí backs. We hold each other back.